Maya pushes open the hidden metal door in the basement, the metallic creak echoing in the silent space. A wave of dust and damp earth hits her nose immediately. She finds herself in a room she has never seen before—an unrefined, oppressive space. The walls are made of unevenly mortared red bricks, as if the place was built in a rush. The floor, roughly poured concrete, is riddled with cracks and jagged edges. In one corner, a haphazard pile of abandoned cement bags leans precariously, while a rusted cement mixer and shovels lie forgotten in another.
Her gaze is drawn to an irregularity in the center of the floor—a distinct mound, a bulge betraying something buried beneath. She doesn't need much imagination. Every fiber of her being screams that a body is entombed there, locked forever under the concrete. The flickering light from two torches mounted on the walls casts dancing shadows, distorting the room into menacing, shifting shapes.
A rough stone opening, dark and gaping, extends into the depths ahead. She can see nothing beyond its frame, only palpable darkness that seems to call to her. Yet she remains frozen at the threshold, paralyzed by the thought that the door might slam shut behind her, sealing her in this place for eternity.
Then, a light, mocking voice cuts through the silence, a theatrical proclamation rising from somewhere deep within the corridor.
"Welcome to Hugo's grave!"
Jimmy's voice, grandiloquent and dripping with biting irony, echoes off the walls. Maya jumps, her heart leaping into her throat.
"Mother's little secret," he continues, mocking. "She mixed the concrete herself, you know. Then poured it over his lifeless body and watched it set."
Maya remains paralyzed, her throat tight. Every instinct screams at her to slam the door shut and flee, but a morbid curiosity holds her back. She needs to understand. She has to understand. Her eyes remain fixed on the dark opening, as if she could make out Jimmy's face within it—or something far worse.
"She thought she'd got rid of him," he says, his voice rising and falling like a macabre nursery rhyme. "But she didn't get it, Maya. Hugo was just one of us. Just another log on the fire. He burned out. But the fire's been burning down the Halls for centuries. Clearing the way... lighting the darkness... laying waste to the old and the poor and the weak."
A chill runs down her spine. Something in his voice, in the almost hypnotic cadence, makes her lose all sense of distance. Is Jimmy close by? Or is he speaking from somewhere far off? It's impossible to tell. The darkness feels alive, shifting, watching her with an insidious malice.
"And it's burning in you too, Maya. I can tell!"
Maya's breath catches, a chilling terror seizing her body. It feels as though invisible hands are gripping her, holding her in place. Every word from Jimmy sinks into her like a cold blade, awakening a feeling she can't name—a fear laced with an unsettling sense of recognition.
"We are destined to be together, you and I. You're the one I've been waiting for. Which is why I can't let you leave. You're staying here with me, Maya. Forever."
Suddenly, light bursts from the opening, blinding her. She squints against the glare. And then he's there.
Jimmy.
He emerges like a living shadow, his features illuminated by an almost otherworldly glow. A deranged smile spreads across his face, a blend of cruel delight and ravenous longing. In his hand, he holds a bat, which he raises with slow, deliberate menace, savoring the moment.
"Hello, Maya."
The memories of that night at the Sea View Hotel layer themselves effortlessly over the present, as though no time has passed. The world seems to freeze. Once again, Maya should be consumed by terror, but instead, she remains eerily calm, focused. Jimmy and she lock eyes in an endless stare, as if continuing something that began long ago.
A year has changed the man so profoundly that he's almost unrecognizable. His hair has grown into messy strands, falling around a face marked by exhaustion. His complexion is pale, hollowed by visible weariness, his cheeks slightly sunken, and the dark circles beneath his eyes suggest he hasn't slept in days, perhaps weeks. His frame is gaunt, his clothes—an unkempt shirt and trousers that seem too loose—hang awkwardly on his weakened body. Yet despite his disheveled appearance, he exudes an aura that chills her to the bone. A combination of despair and menace.
They stand motionless, separated by a coffee table and the couch, equidistant from the bedroom. The space between them feels surreal, distorted, as though time and air have thickened.
Jimmy stares at her, but the look in his eyes is nothing like the terrifying confidence she remembers. His piercing blue irises appear haunted, filled with a pain that defies comprehension. He watches her as if he, too, wishes she weren't real. As if her presence were just a ghost, a hallucination tormenting him. His gaze wavers, and slowly, he closes his eyes, almost as though shielding himself from the sight of her.
He shakes his head, a subtle gesture laden with denial, then steps back—once, twice—slipping into the shadow of the kitchen. The faint rustle of his clothes brushing the wall is the only sound betraying his movements. His legs give way beneath him, and he sinks slowly to the floor, his back pressed against the wall. In the darkness, his features almost vanish, but Maya can still make out his shoulders, faintly trembling as though he's shivering.
She stands frozen, unable to move, unable to speak. Her legs threaten to buckle, but she remains upright, pinned in place by a mixture of terror and confusion. This can't be happening.
And yet, Jimmy is here.
But… different.
He stays curled on the ground, arms wrapped around his knees, his chin resting atop them. At last, his voice emerges—broken, barely audible against the oppressive silence of the room.
"You shouldn't be here… I tried to warn you. You need to leave..."
Maya doesn't move, her heart pounding in her ears. Her hands are clammy, yet her movements remain deliberate, controlled. She edges around the coffee table and the couch, keeping the kitchen entrance in view, her body coiled like a spring ready to snap. Behind her, the doorway to the bedroom—the mirror—her escape. One impulse is all it would take, and she could run. He wouldn't have time to react.
But her gaze stays locked on Jimmy, seated there like a ghost. His legs are drawn tightly to his chest, his thin, fragile frame belonging to someone entirely different. He avoids her eyes, glancing at her occasionally from the corner of his vision before looking away, as if ashamed of her presence.
Maya halts, holding her breath. She studies him, trying to overlay this image with that of the man who had hunted her through the hotel corridors. Nothing matches. Not his weakened body, nor his subdued voice, which lacks the sharp, mocking tone she remembers. This voice… it's different—lower, unsteady. It reminds her strangely of the first time she had heard him, when he had greeted her at the hotel with childlike enthusiasm, hoping to persuade her to attend his comedy show. But even that version of him seems to have vanished, replaced by this shadow.
Her mind returns to the hypothesis of a split personality—Jimmy, a victim of Hugo Punch, a force beyond his control. She had believed it was an excuse, a way to escape responsibility for his actions. But as she watches him now, curled in on himself, avoiding her gaze like a wounded animal, doubt creeps in.
What if it's true?
What if the Jimmy who had warned her in his room was another side of this fractured identity? Hugo Punch would never do this. He would never plead with her to leave.
Maya glances back over her shoulder, calculating the distance to the mirror. The voice of reason screams at her to run. But another feeling creeps into her mind, an emotion she never thought she'd associate with Jimmy: pity.
She takes a step forward, then another, each movement deliberate, ready to react to the slightest hint of danger. She stops a few meters from him—close enough to observe but far from within reach.
"Hello, Jimmy..." she finally says, her voice unexpectedly steady, as if responding to him a year too late.
He lifts his head toward her slowly, and what she sees in his eyes strikes her deeply: fear. Not the fear of a hunted man but the terror of a soul aware of its own ruin, desperate and broken.
"I... I'm glad you're... okay," he murmurs, his voice trembling.
He speaks as though each word costs him a piece of himself. Maya crouches slightly, gripping the back of the couch for balance, poised to leap backward if this turns out to be a trap. But nothing about his demeanor suggests deception. He seems genuine, and that sincerity unsettles her more than anything else.
Jimmy averts his gaze, staring at the floor in front of him. His shoulders slump further, as if even his meager energy is abandoning him.
"You... cut your hair. It's nice... very nice."
Maya crouches a little lower, her eyes locked onto his, as if trying to pierce through the fog of this incomprehensible situation.
"What happened?" she asks, her voice soft but firm.
Jimmy raises his eyes to meet hers, though his face remains partially turned away, as if afraid to fully confront her. He shakes his head slowly, his dark hair falling across his gaunt, haunted features. His expression is raw, a mix of guilt and despair.
"I tried," he says, his voice fractured. "That night... I really tried to stop him. To stop you from getting hurt. You and your friends. But... it's my fault."
His voice catches on the last words, his shoulders flinching slightly as though under the weight of an invisible burden.
"I was angry. He took advantage of that."
Maya furrows her brow, her heartbeat quickening. Something in his tone, in the vulnerability he reveals, almost disarms her. She swallows hard and asks, her question both cautious and pressing:
"Who?"
He finally turns his head toward her, and she instinctively recoils just slightly, a millimeter, as the unfathomable depth in his eyes takes her by surprise. Those blue eyes, rimmed with dark shadows, no longer hold any trace of human light—only an abyss of remorse.
"Hugo!" he blurts out like a confession. "Hugo Punch! He's been making me do these terrible things for as long as I can remember. Every time he takes over…"
His voice falters for a moment, trembling, choking back something too painful to express.
"He forces me to do it. And he makes me watch. I've done horrible things."
The final words hang in the air like a verdict, his breath crashing into the heavy silence of the room. Maya looks away briefly, caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Suspicion still roars within her, fueled by the vivid memories of the horrors she endured in the hotel's hallways. But this pity, this faint notion that he might be as much a victim as he is a villain, throws her off balance.
"You hurt people…" she says, her voice colder than she intended.
Jimmy closes his eyes, his face crumpling under the weight of pure, unfiltered pain.
"That... and so much worse. I tried to stop him. I swear I did. But... he's stronger than me."
A heavy silence falls between them, thick and suffocating. Maya doesn't know what to believe anymore. She studies him, every muscle in her body taut, her mind scrambling for a way to discern the truth. Then, she decides to try something—a strategy. To play along.
She straightens slightly, her voice taking on a probing tone, like a scalpel slicing through murky waters.
"Where is Hugo now?"
Jimmy slowly opens his eyes and locks them onto hers. A shiver runs down her spine. He looks terrified and, at the same time, strangely resigned. His response is barely a whisper, laden with something too deep to name. He raises a trembling finger to his temple.
"He's still here. He never leaves. He's waiting. Watching."
Maya stares at him, her heartbeat pounding out a chaotic rhythm.
"I can see him," he adds, his eyes widening as his head turns slowly toward the shattered mirrors scattered throughout the room.
His blue irises seem to dim, swallowed by an abyss of fear, as if he's looking at something Maya could never perceive.
"Where?" she whispers, caught between stepping closer or retreating.
Jimmy lifts one trembling finger and points toward the broken shards of glass on the floor. His voice drops to a ragged murmur, laced with a terror so visceral it makes her skin crawl.
"In the mirrors. Any mirror... I can't get rid of him. He's inside me."
He places a hand on his chest, as though something inside is twisting—a pain he can neither understand nor express. Maya is struck by a wave of memories, Elias's words resurfacing with painful clarity: "Sometimes, the mind fractures to survive."
She watches Jimmy, sitting before her, and for the first time, she sees more than a tormentor or a monster. She sees a broken man. The fragments of his past that she has pieced together—a violent father, a mother killing that man before his eyes when he was only two years old—all fall into place. A fractured child, turned into the playground for a shadow he cannot control. His Shadow.
"How did you end up here?" she finally asks, her tone carefully measured.
Jimmy curls in on himself, wrapping his arms around his knees. His voice is faint, almost absent, as if he's retracing blurry memories.
"When he realized you had escaped... he was furious. I've never felt him that angry. He... set the hotel on fire. I don't remember much after that. I ran. I hid. I wanted to disappear. To end it. And then... they found me."
"Phoenix?" Maya tilts her head slightly, intrigued.
"I don't know... The psychiatrist said she could help me. I really believed she could. But… she's not what she seems."
"What does she want? Why are we here? All of us? What is she after?"
Jimmy lifts his head, his features drawn with a sadness that is almost unbearable. His words fall like a stone into the silence.
"Him. She wants... that thing. She says it's been in my family for a long time. A blessing. That's why they brought me here. 'Home,' they call it. But I can't let that happen. I won't let that happen."
Though his voice is broken, there's a fragile but genuine resolve in it. Maya leans slightly against the sofa, unable to look away.
"You're stopping Hugo from taking over?"
Jimmy nods faintly.
"I try… Since I've been here, I've found a way to channel him. Limit the emotions, limit the thoughts. Trace the sigils. And start again. The same routine every day."
His voice falters, choking slightly.
"He doesn't like it. But I can't let him do it anymore. It has to stop."
He slowly lifts his eyes to hers, his face twisted with an expression of absolute despair.
"He wants you."
The words hit Maya like a punch. Her breath shortens, and an invisible weight crashes against her chest. She stands frozen, her thoughts spiraling into a storm of hypotheses and pure fear. She doesn't want to ask why. She isn't ready to hear the answer, whatever it may be.
Jimmy raises a trembling hand toward her, an awkward attempt to reassure her or beg for her help. But the gesture, loaded with uncertain intent, is enough to make her react. She jerks upright, stepping back several paces, already prepared to flee. Her gaze locks on him, every fiber of her being screaming vigilance.
Jimmy, seeing her reaction, slowly lowers his head. He pulls his hand back. His body slumps even further, and he murmurs almost to himself, his voice heavy with crushing shame. Maya stares at him, her throat tight, unable to decide whether to stay or run.
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps pulls her attention. They echo from the staircase, at first muffled, then growing sharper, hammering in a rapid, determined ascent. Maya freezes, her gaze darting to the apartment door at the end of the hallway. The jangling of keys in a ring reaches her ears, followed by the precise click of a key sliding into the lock.
She glances back at Jimmy, who has also heard. His features tighten, and before she can say anything, he lurches awkwardly to his feet, rushing toward the small table in the living room. Maya watches, paralyzed, as he grabs a battered black notebook and a strange metal box. His movements are frantic, hurried, as if he knows every second matters.
He whirls around suddenly, his eyes locking on Maya with an intensity that makes her instinctively step back. Panic rises in her, and for a moment, she fears he's about to lash out. But instead, he strides toward her, grabs her wrist with a desperate firmness, and pulls her toward the bedroom.
"Come on!" he hisses under his breath, not even looking at her.
Maya stumbles as she tries to keep up, her heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst. They reach the mirror, and he opens it with a motion far more fluid and practiced than hers. In a blink, he pushes her through to the other side and shoves the notebook and box into her trembling hands.
"Use these," he murmurs urgently. "Read the notebook in the light, under a heat source. That's important. And use this to open and close the mirrors. Don't let him follow you."
Maya clutches the objects, her fingers numb with fear, her breathing ragged and uneven. The footsteps in the hallway grow louder. The door creaks open with a sharp snap, followed by a threatening silence.
Jimmy steps closer, so near that Maya can feel the warmth of his breath against her skin. He clasps her hand between his own, his palms cold and trembling, gripping hers with a nearly painful intensity.
"If they're here, it means they didn't get what they wanted. They'll get it eventually. He mustn't leave this place."
He locks his eyes with hers, pleading.
"Use this to escape. Contact the authorities. Bring them back here. And… tell them… tell them… to kill me."
Maya stands frozen, her lips slightly parted but no words coming out. She stares at him, her mind overwhelmed by a swirl of fear and compassion. Jimmy lowers his gaze, his features twisted by pain and despair.
He gently takes her face in his hands, his touch almost tender, as if this moment were an offering, a final act of redemption. He presses a kiss to her forehead, so soft it feels like a breath, a fleeting whisper of contact. Then he rests his forehead against hers, murmuring with heart-wrenching intensity.
"Just… Kill me… Please…"
Before she can respond, Jimmy shoves her back abruptly, catching her off guard. She stumbles slightly but manages to stay upright, staring at him in shock as he slams the mirror shut with a sharp, metallic clang. The sound reverberates through the room, sealing the passage.
On the other side, Jimmy leans against the mirror, his forehead pressed to its surface, as heavy footsteps echo behind him.
"It was nice to see you again…" he murmurs, closing his eyes.
Ashford and two men enter the room, their imposing figures radiating menace. They halt, their gazes fixed on Jimmy, who remains motionless. The air hums with palpable tension, every breath seeming to steal a fragment of eternity.
Ashford's lips curl into a chilling smile, his tone falsely pleasant, concealing the threat beneath.
"It seems we have some matters to discuss, Mr. Hall."